


fresh poison each week

by Catja



Series: Kink Memes 2019 [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, F/M, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inaccurate Catholicism, Masturbation, Priest Kink, The 100 (TV) Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 22:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catja/pseuds/Catja
Summary: Bellamy thought that he’d be able to handle his call to serve at St. Josephine Preparatory School. He was wrong.





	fresh poison each week

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed, title from Hozier, prompt in the end notes.

Bellamy thought that he’d be able to handle his call to serve at St. Josephine Preparatory School. Octavia had been so incredibly difficult as a teenager. Surely no other girl could cause him trouble on the scale his sister had.

Bellamy was wrong.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three weeks since my last confession.”

Bellamy stifles a groan. The ridiculous uniforms the students wore made his vows a challenge to keep at the best of times, and no one wore it better than Clarke Griffin. She’d shot up suddenly over Christmas break and gained at least a cup size, making her little plaid skirt creep higher up her thighs and her white blouse stretch deliciously under her navy cardigan. If Bellamy was allowed to notice or comment, he might ponder aloud why her mother hadn’t purchased a new uniform that actually fit her, but there was nothing he could do except try not to stare too obviously. Now it’s just after spring break, and Bellamy still has to suffer through two more months of watching Clarke bouncing around the school.

It would be easier to deal with how Clarke looked if she was a bad student, or if she misbehaved once in a while. But no, Clarke was bright, and clever, and obedient, and such a fucking good girl. It was torture.

“I haven’t been able to stop myself from committing sins of the flesh, Father.”

Praise the Lord Clarke was the kind of girl who came to confession the days Bellamy was in the booth, instead of his office. He wouldn’t be able to hide the erection that sprung up as soon as he heard her sweet, soft voice on the other side of the screen or the throb at her last words.

When Clarke hesitates, Bellamy prompts, “Have you sinned bodily? In thought or in action?”

“Um. In action, I think. And thought.” She pauses again, and there’s a rustle of fabric. It’s horribly warm in the booth. Maybe she’s slipping off her sweater, or pushing up her sleeves the way she often does in the library where the dress code is less strictly enforced. Maybe even unbuttoning her blouse. “I tempted someone to sin.”

Sweet girl sounds so ashamed of herself. Bellamy presses his palm against his dick, but it does nothing to relieve the ache. 

“I was out at lunch with Ra- with a friend, and her boyfriend came with, and when my friend was grabbing food her boyfriend tried to touch me. I stopped him, but he said it was my fault. I was wearing my uniform and that’s why he did it.”

Bellamy’s jaw tenses. “Have the sisters told you that your uniform is inappropriate?”

He knows they haven’t. 

“No, Father.”

“Then the perversion and sin are in his heart, not yours. _Whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart. And if thy right eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee._ You need not confess to the sins of another. You have done nothing wrong. I absolve thee, go in peace.”

He can imagine it, Raven Reyes’ shrimpy little boyfriend groping Clarke, trying to violate her. He sees red. If he didn’t have a class to teach in twenty minutes, he’d be off to the gym and a few rounds with a punching bag. How dare that runt touch such a good girl as Clarke Griffin? 

At least he’ll have time to jerk off before he has to head to the classroom, and maybe even time to scrub the vision of Clarke from his mind with a few dozen _Pater Nosters_. 

“Thank you, Father, but—”

The silence drags on. Damn her. He needs some relief.

“Yes, child?” Bellamy says, prompting her sooner than he normally would. 

“I have sinned in thought, as well. I’ve been having impure thoughts.”

Strictly speaking, Bellamy is not supposed to ask for details about his students’ impure thoughts. If he were a better man, he would assign her some verses to meditate on and some arbitrary number of Hail Marys. 

But he’s not. He lets the silence drag on until Clarke, voice shaky from shame and guilt, keeps going.

“I know that lust is my besetting sin, and I’m trying too hard to stop thinking about men- boys, I mean- that way, but then I started thinking about girls, and, Father, it’s so much more difficult to turn my thoughts away from lust for girls. There are just pretty girls everywhere, and it’s like you said, Father, I look at women to lust after them and it’s so hard to stop.”

_Jesus Christ._

Bellamy gives up, unbuckles his belt as quietly as he can and pulls his dick out. He almost groans at the first drag of his fist, lets himself imagine for just a moment. He’ll never be able to unknow this. 

“I mean,” Clarke continues, oblivious to Bellamy slicking up his hand and fucking his fist as hard as he dares. “I haven’t acted on these thoughts, not really. But I want to. I can’t stop thinking about it, about kissing a girl, getting to look at her, getting to touch her.” 

“The Lord prohibits acts of sexual sin,” Bellamy says, staring intently at the screen between them. He can only see hints of color— a flash of gold, her pale skin rosy against the white blouse— but it’s enough. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he's going to finish. “He is forgiving of thoughts. Meditate on His Word, turn your thoughts to higher things. Perhaps redirect your thoughts to men, which are less sinful.”

“I don’t know, Father.” Clarke sighs. “The only man I’ve wanted to think about- well, I think it might be as bad of a sin to think about him. He’s— off-limits, I guess.”

If she means fucking Finn Collins Bellamy’s going to break something. 

“I know he’s too old for me—” 

Thank God. Not that douchebag junior then.

“—and he’s, um, committed elsewhere. But I don’t know how to stop picturing him, wondering what he looks like under his clothes. I’ve never even been kissed before, and I know he’ll never do it, but I can’t help wanting him to kiss me. More than kiss me. I’ve even touched myself and imagined it was him instead.”

She cuts herself off, and Bellamy releases into his hand with a choked back grunt. 

“Memorize Philippians 4:8 and meditate on it daily. I absolve thee, go in peace.”

Before she can respond or leave herself, Bellamy’s up and out of the booth, heading toward his office to clean up. If she says anything, he’ll be reprimanded for leaving his post early. Better that then to be caught with his pants down and dick out. 

He’ll have to leave a box of tissues in the booth, for Clarke’s confession next week. She’s been coming more and more lately, and after today, Bellamy’s starting to suspect why. 

He can’t wait.

* * *

Clarke jumps a bit as the confession booth door slams shut. It only takes a moment for Father Blake’s footsteps to disappear. She listens carefully, waiting for the chapel door to close behind him.

As soon as she’s properly alone, she scoots toward the edge of the seat and leans back, flipping her skirt up and slipping her fingers into her sensible cotton underwear. She’s absolutely dripping and has been since she decided to come confess before her Latin class with Father Blake. 

He sounded so tense. Clarke could only imagine how long it’s been since someone had made him feel good. Maybe no one ever had, though Clarke thought that would be a shame. He’s the most handsome man she’s ever seen, even in his awful cassock and the poorly fitting black shirts and pants he wears all the time. 

It doesn’t take her long to finish, two fingers inside her, grinding her clit against her palm the way Niylah showed her. Clarke hadn’t lied to Father Blake since she knew she’d have to confess it, both the lie and the sin. Niylah’s never touched her, never kissed her. They just touch themselves together. 

Maybe she’ll let Niylah kiss her before she confesses next week. Father Blake might like to hear about that. Maybe next week she’ll summon the courage to go confess in his office, instead of here with a wall between them. It would be even harder to control herself, but it might be worth it.

Clarke basks for just another minute before she stands and fixes her clothes. She wipes her dripping fingers against the screen and feels another jolt of arousal at the thought of Father Blake noticing her scent.

Maybe next week she’ll be waiting in the booth for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Clarke is a very good girl who feels very guilty sharing in confession that she has been having dirty thoughts. She's a virgin, she swears. And Priest Bellamy is about one more dirty confession away from ignoring his vow of chastity and taking her for himself.


End file.
